A Short Story of Skyrim

So…yeah. I’m sorry. All you random people that have actually checked up on us within the past 5 months…Surprise! We’re not dead! Some of us are just suffering from IATELDA. I, however, am SUPER busy. As in, the let’s-laze-around-the-television-and-stare-blankly kind of busy. (No, I actually am doing stuff. I’ve decided that summer reading should be banned. (FOUR books. Plus, I’m trying to teach myself physics.) What’s the point of a summer if you have to work doing it? Oh dear, I sound like a lazy bum…which I am, so no problems there at least.) I’m actually here because I really do NOT want to write a paper on political strategies and their uses within modern situations. And no, I do not have the next chapter for Hope today. I know I said I had it planned out (Rule 1: I am a notorious liar.), BUT…I totally forgot what I had planned. No lie. (Probably. Refer to Rule 1.)

So what am I doing rambling here? Well, I WAS going to post a sketch of a krogan that I had drawn after obsessing over the Mass Effect trilogy…however, I hate how it looks in WordPress format. (WordPress authorities, please don’t hate on me! I’m picky, I know. Also, I’ve realized I overabuse parentheses. And don’t create new paragraphs often enough…Oh well.) So no picture. Nor an update on a previous story. Just rambling! [INSERT ANNOYINGLY HAPPY SMILEY HERE.] No, I’m going to try to write up a story now. It’s a bad plan (actually, this idea has been sitting in my mind), I know, but it’ll end taking a lot of time…time I COULD spend doing SUMMER READING but I won’t. Sorry in advance for the inaccuracies! (It’s fiction anyways.)

A SHORT STORY OF SKYRIM

I am Faendal, a proud member of the Bosmer. I am among the elders of our race, having been borne even before the Thrassian Plague took over in 1E 2417. For those unaware of the clock’s time, as I realize the people of today no longer have the elegant systeming of days past, but rather a crude, simplistic style, that is the First Era, the seventeenth year of the twenty fifth century. It is a day well known to us “wood elves.” “Wood elf.” I find this term degrading, as we neither like the crude ash-shaded Dunmer (in your tongue, the “dark elves”), nor like the arrogant hazel-skinned Altmer, whom you all the “high elves.” Simply because these races have descended from the ancient Aldmer, we have been collectively referred to as “elves.” All people, including the devious Argonians, the mischievous Khajit, and the rash Nords, were borne from the Auri-El. Even the Orcs, the most hated of Auri-El, were borne from Him; his hatred gave life to their being. We Bosmer, after our birth, were then raised by the gentle hand of Y’ffre, the Lord of Song and Forest. He blessed us with the gift of knowledge of the natural land. In turn, our bards give him homage in all our songs. He is the light that has guided me to safety in the Nordic lands.

During the time of the Plague, all of Valenwood was in despair. Many a young Bosmer fell from the sickness, and even our natural resistance to disease and poison did nothing to help. Our greatest magicians could only sit and watch as our homeland died, for no amount of magic was able to cure this curse. Prayer for the gods ceased except for those for Arkay, the Prince of Death. Then, just after the Plague passed, we heard news of the arrival of the Cyrodilic Empire, in the modern tomes known as the “Second Empire.” Valenwood would not be able to survive the invasion. However, the Elder of my tree, the beautiful city of Asclepias, heard the voice of Y’ffre call to him in the night. Y’ffre, as we had continued prayer towards all our gods during the Plague unlike the majority of Valenwood, would guide us to safety. He would move Asclepias the same way he moved Falinesti. Quickly, as soon as the news had disseminated, we clung to the knotted branches of our tree. I remember myself, as a young child, clinging with both arms to the trunk as Asclepias took her first step. We traveled for years, even decades, until we reached the outskirts of the land known as Skyrim.

At the border, Asclepias stopped. We took this as a sign from Y’ffre that our journey had ended. As the last descended, Asclepias was sent into the stars, and in her place were a large number of saplings. I suspect that it was Auri-El himself who sent her, as He is known for gifting those who deserve it. She will forever be imprinted into the stars for others to learn of her learning; to learn the tale of the great Asclepias. Each member took a sapling for their own; when they are of age, the children of Asclepias will serve as our bows, our companions in battle for the rest of our lives.

We split then, each Bosmer for their own. I found myself wandering to the small town of Riverwood, on the banks of the White River. There, the Stormcloaks Gerdur and Hod, the local lumberjacks, took it upon themselves to provide for me. They would give me food and a few coins if I would work for them; I immediately accepted. I knew it would be hard to procure work in Nordic lands and was quite glad for the quick offer.

After a few months of working, I took notice of an Imperial female by the name of Camilla. Camilla Valerius, that is. She was beautiful, with sun-kissed cheeks, proud cheekbones, and beautiful hair the exact shade of a brown calla lily. She was by far the most glorious being I had ever laid my eyes on…and I was about to lose her to Sven, the useless bard of Sleeping Giant Inn, a stupid idiot with nothing but honeyed words. I was conflicted with myself. The easiest solution, of course, was simply send an arrow through the Nord’s empty head, but I figured murder was not the best way to go about it; Y’ffre would most likely disapprove. (Actually, now, reflecting on the past, I do not think He would have minded much. Y’ffre treasures all things natural; that is, plants are not to be harmed by a Bosmer’s hand, but an animal (even a large, ugly one by the name of Sven) can be killed.)) Then, a solution, all on its own, waltzed into our little town. A hotheaded (and admittedly weak-looking) Nord, accompanied by the Stormcloak Ralof, who happened to be the brother of the kind Gerdur, took lodgings in the home of my employers.

I approached him, telling of my woes. He nodded every now and then, but didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Finally, I ended my short story. He turned, as if to leave, so I dropped my bait. I offered him my help in clearing Bleak Falls Barrow if he would aid me in my quest. In all honesty, I would have most likely helped him clear the tomb even if he hadn’t accepted my offer; it was to my advantage to be one of the people to reclaim Camilla’s precious Golden Claw. The young Nord immediately accepted, as anyone with common sense would have; anyone would be much better off with a skilled Bosmer archer than a weak Nord bard. He delivered a fake letter to Camilla for me under Sven’s name; it revealed to her just how much of a bigot that bard is.

As promised, I accompanied the Nord throughout Bleak Falls Barrows, and recovered the Golden Claw from the thief, Arvel the Swift. Upon returning to Riverwood, I presented the Claw to Camilla…and she kissed me. We were finally together, at last. I gave my farewells to the Nord, thanked him immensely, and sent him on his way with an archery lesson and a little more gold.

Camilla and I spent our lives together after that. We lived a happy life in the Riverwood Trader with her brother Lucan, whom I found to be quite bearable in comparison to the many other inhabitants of our town, running the little store with little difficulty. Lucan left a few years after I proved myself capable of running “his store” to expand his business; I never heard from him again. The young Nord who had helped me in winning Camilla’s hand turned out to be none other than the Dragonborn. (I don’t care what his title is. His archery still sucks.) I had finally reached true happiness.

To follow “true happiness,” true sadness came, albeit much later. Camilla grew ill; she was already weak in her old age, as we had been together for nearly half a century, a time period longer than most in those days got to live. As a Bosmer, my lifeline would outlast hers. This only meant I would be there to watch her death, and be left to wallow in her memory. And sure enough, we were parted from each other by Arkay.

I didn’t do anything for the next year. I would stare blankly ahead at the desk of the Riverwood Trader, waiting for customers to come in, spent their money, and then leave. After I had closed shop, I’d walk over to her grave and talk to her a bit. Then, I’d pray to Arkay for her well being in Sovngarde, then pray to Y’ffre and Auri-El, followed by other gods.

Our anniversary of the next year, I saw her again. When visiting her grave, she appeared before me as a spirit, and enveloped me in her ghostly arms. In her embrace, I did something that I had never done before; I wept. She kept quiet and held me until I quieted, then told me of her days in the afterlife. She told me of how she listened to me everyday, how she was happy in Sovngarde. She had asked Y’ffre for an audience with me after listening to me for a month, and He told her He would grant her wish if she would wait; and so she did. We talked for the rest of the night, until she disappeared again. One second, she was holding my hand as we talked, the next- Nothing. However, I learned from our short talk that I should spend the rest of my life in more fruitful ways. I quickly ran to complete my daily prayers, giving an extra long one (plus a sacrifice) to Y’ffre for His kindness. And the next day, I re-awoke as Faendal, a proud member of the Bosmer. I embraced life in its fullest and forgot of wallowing in Camilla’s death.

I still visit her grave everyday and offer daily prayer. But I feel that my end is near. Y’ffre calls to me, and I await Arkay to take me an reunite me with my love. I have lived a long, meaningful life in Tamriel; I am ready to live a new one in Sovngarde.

THE END.

…That was so much LONGER than I thought I’d be. GACK. Kinda depressing too…I hadn’t been thinking of people dying when I first started out. Oh well. Semi-happy ending, right? Plus, Faendal’s one of my favorite characters in Skyrim. I tried to make him all plant-y, but it didn’t really fit in so well. But yeah. Faendal’s a jerk, but an awesome one. 🙂 See y’all around (like, in another half year)! Oh, and if you have any cool ideas or requests, leave them in the comments. I’m always up for avoiding doing REAL work. Bye!

Ebony

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Hope- Chapter 2

Yay! Another post…after a month.  I’m sorry, guys, we’re all just super busy. Really, really busy.  Actually, usually at a time like this, rater than “blogging” (I think of it more as writing), I would usually be painting, ’cause I have to finish my painting by February 16. Well, not “finish.”  It has to be dry by the 16th, and because I’m doing an oil piece, it really has to be done by the 9th (unless someone knows a secret to make it dry faster? Please?).  Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling well this morning, and decided inhaling turpentine probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. So instead, I spent the majority of the day arranging a duet for some friends (it’s gonna super awesome!) and doing English homework.  Ugh, English.  Not my best subject.  Anyways, I also decided to type up this chapter for you guys! Enjoy!

 

Stupid Luquen…” Tahl muttered as he inelegantly stuffed clothes for his journey into his bag.  “Stupid Luquen, stupid Empire, stupid village…”

He stopped grumbling for a second when he caught site of the dusty mirror in the corner of his room.  Gently wiping away some of the dust, he stared at his reflection.  A light grey eye, almost a pale lavender, stared back, his other eye cover by his long auburn bangs.  Brushing them aside, he looked at his usually covered eye.  An eye, not quite similar to his other one, revealed itself.  Tahl sighed, and let his bangs fall back.

Mother…Father…”  The sad whisper fell from his lips. Pained from the remembrance of his parents, he clutched at his necklace, a pair of silver rings strung on a thin leather strip.  Even as a young adult, the memory of his late parents, reflected in his now covered eye, caused him unbearable sorrow.

He once again lifted his bangs to gaze at his irregular eye.  Rather than the lavender-grey eye one might expect, a bright red glared back, an old, ugly scar running over it.  He ran his fingers over it, as if it would soothe the pain for a moment.

I have avenged you…so why do you still ache?  Mother?  Father?  No answer came to his question.  Instead, he seemed to become more sorrowful as he recalled the night of his parents death.

f l a s h b a c k

A little boy, at the age of eight, clutched his mother’s hand, and she his father’s, as they walked back to the inn.  It was a small inn, but made enough for the family to survive comfortably.

“Welcome back.”  An elderly lady, wielding an intricate wooden cane, walked up to the entrance as the family approached.

“Grandma Aefyi!”  The little boy ran up to hug her, both lavender-grey eyes shining as he began to tell her of the day’s adventures. The old woman smiled and led him indoors for some snacks.

“Calm down, Tahl.  Eat something first, and then you can tell about today.”

“Okay, Grandma!”  the little boy exclaimed as he quickly crammed a flakey pastry into his mouth.  His mother sighed.

“You spoil him a bit too much, Aefyi.” She smiled and grabbed a pastry for herself.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hypocritical, Reqi?”  Her husband laughed as he watched both mother and son scarf down pastries.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tahnn!  Eat some too!”  Before he could refuse, Reqi forced some of her pastry into his mouth.  “It’s delicious, isn’t it?!  Well, of course it is, Grandma Aefyi made it!”

The old lady chuckled.  “You flatter me too much, dear.  Well, enjoy, I’m going to retire for the night.  Good night.”

“Tell us if you need anything!” Reqi shouted, before once again grabbing a pastry to eat.  “Dear, would you check on all our guests?”  Just then, she heard the front door open.  “I’ll get that one if you get the rest!  Thanks, dear!”  She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before skipping to the front entrance to deal with their new guest.

Rather than the poor traveler she expected to appear- as most of their guests were- a pair of soldiers, clad in the forest green Empire uniform, appeared.

“Hello!  Will you both be needing a room to spend the night in?”  Always cheerful, she invited them in with a smile.  Instead of entering, one of the soldiers raised a hand to stop her as the other reached into his bag and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment.  He unrolled it slowly.

“Reqi of Altiua, you are hereby under the arrest in the name of the Empire.”

 

Cliffy!  Actually, it’s beacuse I don’t really feel like typing much more, not to mention, I’m sorta tired.  Who knos what type of terrible grammatical and plot errors I might make?  No worries, though, I will update as soon as I get another chance.  ….That may not be until February 9th or later though.  I warn you now.  Important note:  Notice that both Tahl’s eyes were grey when he was 8.  It’s kinda important.  The flashback will continue the next time I’m back!  I have it planned out and all, all that’s left is to type it!  See y’all (oh, look, there’s my Texas-ness) later!

 

Solo-the Prologue

Hi! So, bad news…I’ve gotten a bit tired of Inevitability.  I know what you’re thinking, “Ebony! You’re only two chapter in! How can you be tired of it?!?!”  I’m not quitting it, just taking a small break. And in that small break, I’m writing a different story! “Solo.” This is the prologue, so I hope you enjoy!

S o l o

Solo.  By oneself.  Companionless.  Friendless.  Unaided.  Alone.  Me.

I’ve been by myself my entire life. No father to play with me, no mother to care and worry for me.  No friends, no allies. Only enemies, people that hate me.  People in immaculate white coats that chase me, try to trap me in a cage.

In this world, I have no one.  I can only rely on myself.

But why do people hate me? Why do they want to take my freedom away, why do they want me as a lab rat?

Well, it’s because in the world of Godai, I’m the only Void.  I’m the fifth element, I’m pure energy, the sky, light; the fabric of the entire universe.  I’m everything everyone else isn’t; and I hate it.  I haven’t gone a day in my life without having someone try to kill me.  So why aren’t I dead? Here’s the best part: I can’t die. Well, I can, it’s just that no one has ever been powerful enough to kill me.  I’ve had a bounty on my head for all 15 years of life, and I’ve never been scratched.  (Well, I’ve tripped over a couple million rocks and gotten a couple skinned knees, but really, that’s it.)  I’ve had people try to burn me to ashes, drown me, bury me alive, suffocate me….and I’m still alive! Great! But seriously, what’s the point?  I’m living simply for the point of living.  So last week, I made a decision: I’m going to find the Oneiro and ask it for the power rule the world!!! Just kidding.  But I really do need it; I want to be a normal person. None of this “Void” stuff.

On the plus side, I’m super popular!  Everyone knows my face and name! Nevermind the fact the either want to kill or capture me.  Most of them aim for the kill.  Hmm.  But yeah, I’m probably the most well-known person on this earth!  My long black hair is pretty common; the biggest give-away is my eyes.  Well, you ask, what color are they?  ….they’re universe-colored.  I know that seems impossible, but remember when I said “I’m the fabric of the entire universe?” …I wasn’t kidding.  I’m seriously the embodiment of the universe.  Yay.  Unfortunately, this makes it really hard to sneak by without some random person shouting, “It’s the Aether!”

On a side note, that’s my name. Aether.  It, lamely enough, means “Void.”  Cha.  I’ve thought about changing it, but it would be kinda pointless.  I’d still be called “Aether.”  On another side note, it sounds pretty.  Kinda wish I had a matching last name, but I haven’t thought of anything yet.

Enough about my name, though.  Back to random people trying to chase me down.  I wear a black cloak with a suspiciously large hood to hide my face in order to disguise myself.  I would try glasses, but that’s kinda shady.  Haha…shady. See what I did there?  But seriously, glasses while indoors? SUSPICIOUS. Adding to suspicious, I carry a glaive on my back.  My only companion, Tekuta.  It’s short for “Purotekuta,” which means “protector.” I know, I’m creative.  But I made her myself, made her ebony pole and her adamantium blade. She’s the only thing that’s kept me surviving all these years. Well, her and my super convenient space-time warping powers, my abilities to float (I can’t fly), my ability to control light and pure energy, my other various abilities….wow, I can do lots of stuff!  I can see why people hate me.

“There she is!”

“…Darn.”

I’ll catch up with you later, newly bought diary.  (I bought (okay, stole) you because some monk-dude told me that it was the memories of the past that build our future.  Then my hood slipped off and he tried to kill me.  Psh. All monks are pacifists? It’s a LIE.) Bye!

-Aether

Yeah….It’s a bit long for a prologue.  But I’ve had this idea in my head for about 3 hours!  (I had to finish my English paper before I could type this up.)  I think it could go somewhere! BTW, this story is based off Japanese and Greek elemental beliefs.  And anything particularly not-English sounding is courtesy of Wikipedia (I know, shame on me) and Google translate. And if you find any mistakes, tell me! (I basically sit at a computer, and all this stuff just comes pouring out.  It makes for faster updates though.) Please, please tell me what you guys think! I can’t write if I don’t know what people think! Please!!

Ebony

Inevitability-Chapter 2

Hey, it’s Ebony with another chapter of…Inevitability!! Well…it’s also the only story I’m writing right now, so you could probably guess that.  Warning: I kinda abused italicization. And ellipses. Oops.    Well, enjoy!

“Hey, Avis, you ready for orchestra?”

Avis sighed. “Am I ever?”

Alcarin cracked a smile, one so miniscule that if Avis hadn’t been his best (and only) friend for the past nine years, she wouldn’t have noticed it.

Avis gasped. Avis did a happy dance. Avis shrieked in joy. Avis jumped up and down. Alcarin hit her head. Avis stopped celebrating.

“What was that for?!?!”

Alcarin shrugged. “You seemed to be in some weird trance.”

“It’s called being happy, you jerk!” she exclaimed, before mumbling, “Not that you would know anything about that…but you just smiled! Smiled!! ….wait, are you sick?”

“No, you idiot.  And I was not smiling.”

“You totally were!! You can’t deny it!! And we’re going to be late!! RUN!!!”

She grabbed his arm before running-well, more like charging-down the hallway to their orchestra class.

They burst through the door, just as the bell rang.

“YES! Score! Told ya we’d make it on time, you pessimist.”

“You said no such thing.”

“I did too!! Or did I? Oh well, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Avis, to your seat please.  We can’t start without our concert pianist, now can we?” said her teacher, smiling all the while.

“Why doesn’t Alcarin get lectured? He arrived at the same time as me, plus he’s the concertmaster! Why only meeeeeeeeeeee?”

“Well, it’s because he’s already in his seat.”

“Huh?” Avis turned around dramatically, only to gasp when she saw Alcarin sitting in his chair, quietly pulling out his violin and running his bow through some rosin. “Not fair!!! You cheated!”

“How so?”

“You…you…uh…your seat is easier to find! It’s right next to the director!”

“And yours is right under the grand piano standing to your right. Just sit down.”

“Ugh!! Fine! I will have my revenge, o great dwarves! I will have my revenge!!!”

A random member of the orchestra turned to his neighbor and asked, “What’s that all about, anyways?”

“She’s always like that.  Well, at least, ever since she met Alcarin.”

“But he’s like…..like an emotionless, robotic, stoic, and unfeeling rock!”

His neighbor looked confusingly. “A robotic rock? Right…well, anyways, she met him right after her mother died.”

DUN DUN DUN.  Dramatic, no? I hope so.  Anyways, how they met and why Alcarin was smiling (yep, there’s a reason for that) will be revealed in the next chapter. Double bonus!  Be prepared for some fluffy amesomeness! (Or some fluffy sauce.  Whichever you want.) Give me some feedback!

Ebony

Inevitability-Chapter 1

A new story, one I’ve just made up to celebrate the fluffiness of fluffy things! …Yeah, I know I don’t make much sense.  Enjoy!

The notes drifted through the air, gentle chords with an underlying strength that seemed to make its way to one’s soul.  They continued, one after another, forming a soothing melody that moved like waves. Then, another sound, a different instrument that began slowly on a single note and worked itself gracefully into a harmony.  It didn’t detract from the melody; if anything, it completed the melody, not overpowering it, yet not supporting it.  It was like two strangers had come together and harmonized with each other instantaneously, like love at first sight-

“Avis! Avis!”

A girl jumped, her waist-long auburn hair loose from her usual low ponytail.

“Yes! Cheesecake! Purple dinocorns! Thermopolis-what was the question again?”

“Ms. Katari, please refrain from sleeping in my class. Again.

The girl laughed sheepishly.

“Sorry, Professor! I’ll try harder next time. I promise.”

“Sure you will,” muttered the boy sitting next to her.  “That’s the same thing you’ve said all year.”

She elbowed him sharply.  “Shut up, Alcarin!”

“Ow!”

“No violence in my classroom, please.”

She gave her professor another apology before elbowing the boy again-discretely this time.  The boy didn’t dare shout again, in fear of being elbowed yet again.

The boy was none other than Alcarin Dorster, Avis’ long-time friend….and childhood crush.

Tell me what you guys think!

Ebony

The Lost Princess-Part One

Hey readers, it’s Lilac!  Pinkii asked me to post one of my stories, but I’m really shy, so constructive criticism is welcome, but no mean comments please!  Also, it’s only fair to warn you that this is not a werewolf story.  There’s been some confusion on that point, and guys I admit they can be really cool, but I just don’t want to write about them.

Preface

                Have you ever seen a wolf pack?  They’re fascinating creatures.  Their pack is a perfect example of a hierarchy.  Everyone has their place.  But every once in a blue moon, you find a wolf that doesn’t quite fit in; that doesn’t know where it’s ranked and how it should behave.  The other wolves let it stay, because it’s a strong hunter, but it is never completely accepted.  Somehow the other wolves know it’s not pack.  I’m that wolf: the one on the edge, that’s somehow known to be not quite normal.

I was adopted into the village of Ravenshead when I was seven years old with no memory of what my life was like before.  Ten years later, and I’m still the foreign child.

The Lost Princess

                Bang!  I try to catch the door, but it’s too late, the noise has already reverberated throughout our snug, little cottage.  I wince knowing I’m going to be in trouble.  However, I try to prolong the inevitable by sneaking off towards my room.  It doesn’t work; it actually never has.   Auntie, my adopted mother, is far too smart for that.

“Where are you going and why was it necessary to run in like you were fleeing from the fairies?”  she asks with a bemused smile.  “Weren’t you supposed to be at market?”

“I was, but I had to leave…quickly.”

“What’s happened now?  You haven’t upset Mistress Miller again, have you?”

“Not this time, but I hope to continue doing so.  The day I wear a corset and bat my eyelashes and pretend to be brainless in front of the young men is the day she approves of Snow.”

“She’s scared to death of Snow, not disapproving.  Don’t change the subject! What happened this time?”

“Farmer McAllen has raised the price on all his stock.  We can’t afford it, and he knows no one else can either.”

“The Duke’s raising taxes.  There’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s so criminal, but then again, so is everything else he does.  I had to leave, because I called Farmer McAllen an empty-headed trickster who didn’t care for anyone, but himself.  No one can pay.  The village is close to starving!”

“Aurelia Weaver!  Shouting will not help anyone, and I want you to take Snow and go apologize to Farmer McAllen.”

I run out of the house, as quickly as possible in my skirts, and head into town with Snow happily loping alongside me as she has every day for the past nine years.  I found her in the forest when she was a pup.  Her mother was dead in a trap, and Snow, a beautiful, pure white wolf pup, was just curled up beside her.  I took Snow home and cared for her, and ever since we have been inseparable.

I am jolted out of my musings by the sound of sharp whispers and a dull thud.  I peak around the corner and see two palace guards arguing with a man, who is a serf by the look of his clothes.  I see the man giving the guards a heavy looking pouch, stolen most likely, that clinked and rattled.  They all grinned lasciviously, and the guards produced a squawking chicken.  I was shocked.  No one, but the Duke has chickens now.  He had collected them all as taxes and made us pay for the eggs at a ridiculously high price.  I thought I knew what was happening, but couldn’t believe it.  They were all dead if anyone was to find out.  At that moment Snow caught the scent of juicy meat and barreled straight towards the trio.  The men looked up and caught sight of me.

“You, you there!”  What are you doing here?”  they shout while advancing towards me.

“Snow, run!”  I shout.  She wheels around, notices the strange men, and runs by snarling and snapping to protect me.

“You silly wolf, we need to run!”  I shout and drag her along with the men swiftly gaining behind us.  We run for what feel forever, but we manage to lose them, and I stumble into bed that night hoping everything will be forgotten in the morning.  But, just because life fears being called predictable, I was woken up to a scream.